


consumed

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Keene
Genre: F/M, Nancy Drew Files, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy and Ned on a stakeout in the height of summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	consumed

The heat shimmers from the roof of the athletic complex, the air hanging still and thick. Nancy twirls a lock of hair around her index finger, drags it over her lips, closes her teeth over it thoughtfully. In the backseat Ned shifts and looks away.

"It's not Shane," Bess says stubbornly, shoving her sunglasses an inch higher on the bridge of her nose.

"It _is_ Shane," George retorts, turning in the driver's seat so she's in profile, not even bothering to look straight at her cousin. "Everything fits. He needs money, he has access. End of story."

Nancy isn't talking. She releases the lock of hair so she can lazily drag her nails over her thigh, and her hair untwists, as Ned watches, the ends splaying out, catching the light. Her shorts are bright white against her tan. Her finger bends, the tip sliding under the hem, before she uncrooks it and drags it back down to her knee, leaving the faintest white trail behind it.

Ned takes a long, long sip from his water bottle, as George angrily punches the stereo to life.

"Whether it's Shane or not, he's probably not going to be sneaking in today," Ned points out. "Not in broad daylight."

"Not if he intercepted that message."

"Which he didn't," Bess huffs back, and soon they're at it again. Nancy drags her hair back and lets it fall over the headrest. The binoculars haven't moved from her eyes in five minutes. She hasn't registered anything they've said.

"Nan," Ned says, putting his hand on her shoulder, and her skin is warm to the touch. She startles a little.

"Don't you think we should call it a day? Get some dinner, come back later?"

"Maybe when it's cooler," Bess agrees, fanning herself with an open hand. "God, it's never been this hot."

"Free later, Nickerson," Nancy asks, tipping the binoculars back to her face.

"The air conditioning's out at the frat," he admits with a half-smile. "I'd rather be anywhere but there."

\--

She's so pretty. The bridge of her nose is dusted with light freckles and she keeps idly twisting her hair up with one hand, almost knotting it, letting it fall down again onto her bare tanned shoulders. She stands in front of the coolers, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet as she compares the sodas, and when she finally makes a choice, the escaped refrigeration has turned her nipples to faint points through her shirt. Bess and George had been wearing their swimsuits under their clothes but Nancy isn't, there's no tie half-hidden at the back of her neck. He follows her to the cash register.

She's slick as a seal in her swimsuit.

He glances up and the cashier's staring at him, Nancy's already out in the lot unlocking the car, and he's just standing blankly at the checkout with a soda still in his hand.

\--

He's figured out the logistics of car sex. He's had plenty of time to work it out in his head during stakeouts just like this one. She's still in her thin tank top and indecently short, blindingly white shorts, the hem inching up every time she shifts to get a better angle on the parking lot. She's in the driver's seat, which doesn't work for a lot of reasons.

It's colder when the sun goes down. When she passes him the binoculars, her palm is wet with the condensation from her drink. Her nails are audible as they slide down her forearm. The sweat is drying on her skin.

"We don't have all the exits covered," he points out, lowering the binoculars.

"Do you suggest we split up?"

"No, that we go inside."

He's never been fond of the logistics of car sex. There's no seduction to it.

Her fingers brush his as he locks the car behind them.

\--

The trick to this is to not look like what they are. She finds a dark hooded sweatshirt in the trunk and wraps the arms around her waist, hiding the blinding white; she twists her hair up in a ponytail. The heat begins to bleed away, but he can still feel it, gathered in the asphalt, lingering in the shadows, radiating from her skin. Her palm is just faintly damp in his as she peers up into his face, smiling, their hands swinging between them, her ponytail swinging with the regularity of a pendulum. The lines in her neck are touched with gold, reflecting the sunset. He wants to dip his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat, lick his way up her neck.

He smiles back. His skin is throbbing.

\--

A siren rings out, too close, and startles her, her sneaker scraping against the concrete. The files are down another long hallway, so they stick to shadow, and her skin is always in contact with his, just in case they have to suddenly pretend that they've snuck into the athletic complex to be alone when there are thousands of places that would be more plausible. The backseat of any car, that one bench in Emerson Woods that has more initials carved into it than a truck stop bathroom stall.

They hear a noise and he swings her into his arms, her lips already parted. He pins her to the wall, her arms draping over his shoulders. Cherry cola on her tongue. He sucks her tongue, bracing her hard against the wall, and she moans a little.

She bites his lower lip. "All clear," she murmurs against his ear, teeth scraping the lobe, and he just almost, barely, feels the tip of her tongue against the hollow behind it.

There's an extra swing in her hips that he isn't imagining.

The files yield nothing, because the coach is too smart. He didn't think it would. Ned goes through the files while Nancy tries the computer. The coach's "hidden" files, the ones Nancy is so eager to look at, turn out to be porn. Not even very imaginative porn.

She crosses her legs and quickly closes the files. Ned half-bashes his hand in the file cabinet just to derail his own train of thought, then wonders if he's managed to cut his finger, wonders if he can get Nancy to suck it and make it better, then finds himself back where he started, thinking about baseball statistics and calculus instead of Nancy draped over the desk in a skimpy cheerleading outfit, legs open to him, eyes half-lidded with desire.

He's two seconds away from making any desperate excuse to find the showers when she rattles the doorknob very gently, only to find it locked.

They'll be locked in for two days if they don't find a way out.

He'll never last that long.

\--

She comes up with the genius plan for him to boost her up, so she can move one of the ceiling tiles out of the way, climb up into the crawlspace, then hop down and let him out. He notices again, for the seventeenth time, how short her shorts are, when they're on level with his face.

And then the desk hits his knee and he tilts a little, off balance, and Nancy hooks a leg over his shoulder and his face is buried against her crotch, and he almost says something, but he's breathing in and the scent of her and oh God, she wants him.

He knows it.

He lets out a slow, deliberate breath, his mouth against the seam of her shorts, and she's not moving. Her knee is trembling against his cupped palms.

And then her hand is in his hair and God, her fingers tighten, and she's panting.

Fuck the cheerleading outfit. All he'll need to get hard after this is the memory of her bright white shorts.

Her hand drops and she boosts herself up, and it's passed somehow, but he doesn't even have to look at her to know. She braces herself against his shoulders and he imagines yanking her down by a sneaker, slowly pulling her shorts down, draping her legs over his shoulders, as she hangs by her fingertips, under his power.

Car sex is almost too much to ask. He'll be lucky if he doesn't shove her over the security desk and fuck her there, in sight of three cameras and anyone outside who cares to watch.

\--

He shouldn't have thought about security guards, at all.

They manage to catch the one making his rounds of the building. At first, when the scent of chlorine hits Ned, he can't believe it, but she's managed to find the only door to the pool that wasn't locked.

The guard's footsteps are getting closer.

Nancy kicks her sneakers off and sits down at the edge and slides into the water with barely a ripple, and the lock is rattling when Ned dips his toes, and Nancy's hair brushes his foot and he almost falls, almost splits the water with a loud smack.

It's too dark to see her, here, under the water.

Her skin wet like a seal.

He keeps his fingers looped around the edge of the pool and his other arm wrapped around her waist. She touches her forehead to the base of his neck, her hair floating in separate individual strands up to the surface of the water.

He puts his face up and she follows, and he can't help gasping just a little. The guard's footsteps stop, and they quiet their breath, watching the water's reflection ripple on the ceiling.

Wet and slick like a seal. Like she is, between.

The door slams shut and she twists away from him, rising out of the water like a shot, the thin fabric of her tank molded to her breasts, tight over her puckered nipples.

\--

He told her no one would be at Omega Chi, and he's right. All the lights are off, the brothers gone to houses with air conditioning. Ten kiddie pools, two beach balls and a blow-up doll facedown and abandoned on the lawn.

Nancy's shivering when they finally make it to his room. "I have to take a shower," she murmurs, teeth chattering, but the dark frat house is still airless and prickling-hot.

He follows her into the bathroom that he shares with two other guys. The light is off, the window open, a stack of Playboys beside the toilet.

He opens the shower curtain and turns back just in time to see her finally, finally draw her shirt above her breasts. Her shorts cling to her like a wet second skin but the water has made her bra entirely translucent.

There are no file cabinets to bash his hand in, no integrals left to do. He pulls her into his arms hard, trapping her hips between the edge of the counter and his own, and kisses her, and her mouth is hot, her lips taste faintly of chlorine. When he pulls back she has his shirt halfway off, and he has her panties and shorts peeled halfway down her legs.

She leads him to the shower, after all their clothes are in a tangled sodden mess on the tile floor, the lights still off, the window still open. The breeze makes goosebumps rise against her forearms, over her breasts, and he rubs his thumb over the tip of one nipple, amazingly turned on by the knowledge that she's naked, in the moonlight, and anyone could look in and see them like this.

Then she wraps her fist around his cock, once the shower is on, walking backward until her back is against the cool tile wall and his arms are braced on either side of her, pinning her in, the water beating against his back.

"You need to warm up or cool off?"

"Why don't you tell me," she whispers, licking her lower lip, arching so she can bend her knees just the slightest bit, as she leads his hand between her legs. He steps between her knees, the hard tips of her nipples brushing his chest, as he plunges two fingers up inside her, his thumb rubbing small circles against her lips, and she tilts her head back, her mouth falling open, bending her knees until his hand is the only thing keeping her from collapsing to a boneless puddle at his feet.

She wraps her fingers around his cock but instead of pumping his shaft in her fist, she drags the wrinkled tips of her waterlogged fingers over its pulsing veins, drawing circles around the head with her thumb.

And she's beginning to rock against him. It's all he can do not to explode.

"If you had just breathed against me one more time, back there," she moans, and the grind of her hips against his hand is so faint as to be almost imperceptible, the little circles she's making, trying to drive her clit against his thumb, but he won't give her that, not yet. "One more time, I would've come."

\--

The water spills between them, dripping down their abs to pool between them. It started lukewarm and went ice-cold a while ago. She shudders, all of her, down to her toes, down to the exquisite wet heat between her thighs, when the icy needles of the water touch her nipples.

Which happens a lot, since he repositioned the shower head for just that purpose.

The heels of her hands are braced against the windowsill, her elbows bent, and when he thrusts particularly hard, he can actually see the moonlight kiss her nipples, turning her luscious breasts silver-blue.

Her head and shoulders are out the window, her red-gold hair dripping icy water onto the roof below. Half the time her breasts are, too. He tightens his grip on the sill and digs his other thumb against her clit, and she sucks in a sharp breath with a hiss, her legs tightening around him, relaxing just the slightest bit so he can pull back for another thrust.

"Should I turn the water off," he grunts. He's shivering. And she is so fucking hot, tight against his cock, writhing when he glances his thumb over her clit. 

She raises her head, her eyes half-lidded, breasts shaking against his thrusts. "I want to feel it on my clit," she whispers, and angles her hips a little higher.

He finds the massage setting on the shower head and angles them toward the spray, pulling her lips open with his fingers, his cock still half inside her, and when he feels the needles of cold water against the base of his cock he grimaces, tightening, and twists just a little, and suddenly she's fighting him, rolling her hips, her inner flesh tightening, sucking at his cock, pulling him deeper between her legs. She whimpers, arched, seeking the angle to keep the water pulsing against her clit, and he hooks his thumb under it, even as he fucks her raw. She shudders and cries out and he wants to shush her, but he doesn't, he's too turned on at the thought of someone seeing her like this, trembling at the height of her orgasm, the hot gush of her as she cradles him between her thighs bringing his own release.

He slams the shower off with the smack of his palm and she's panting in the dark, beads of water clinging to her skin, her inner flesh still weakly clenching around his cock. He slides the ball of his thumb to the tip of her clit again and she shudders, tossing her water-weighted hair. "No," she mumbles, bracing the heels of her hands against the sill, drawing it out until it's more like a moan, and she chants it over and over again, her breath ragged, a flush rising in her neck and cheeks as he methodically strokes her clit, bringing her to another orgasm.

When he's finished he slides down with her until he's sitting at the bottom of the shower and she's straddling him, her breasts on level with his face. He closes his mouth over one hard rubbery nipple and she arches lazily, running her fingers through his hair. She pushes herself up on her knees an inch, then shifts and pins him down again, his cock buried fully between her thighs.

"Did you just fuck me while I was half out the window?" She thrusts her hips slowly, shallowly again, giving them a little twist at the apex. He gently closes his teeth around her nipple and nods slightly.

"Naked." Her inner flesh pulses once as she spreads her knees a little wider, and he cups his hand under her other breast, tipping her nipple toward his mouth, as he nods.

"So half your frat brothers have heard by now and are lined up on the other side of that door."

He detaches for that. "Probably."

"And all I have in here is a sopping wet set of clothes that won't cover a postage stamp and a few well-used Playboys."

He nods.

She glances up at the ceiling. "How are you at escape missions, Nickerson?"

"The best," he says casually.

She slowly pushes herself up, wincing as they finally part, and shakes her head at him. "You won't know when, but sometime soon we're gonna go to a restaurant together and I'm gonna drop my fork, unzip your pants, and totally blow your mind while you grin and stammer at the waitress."

"Oh God," he murmurs, deadpan. "God, please no. Anything but that."

She climbs up on the lip of the tub, half-smiling down at him, palm open and beckoning. "Just give me a hand."

"Anytime, babe. Anytime."


End file.
